


Underestimated

by inber



Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animalistic, Come Shot, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dominance, M/M, Messy, Multi, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Simultaneous Orgasm, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Geralt and Eskel are brushing up on their hand-to-hand combat skills as Jaskier watches. When things get intense, Geralt learns a few things about his own confidence and arrogance. Eskel is happy to be his teacher. Just absolute filth, honestly. Inspired by @goldandlights on tumblr! Follow them, they're amazing!
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791841
Comments: 38
Kudos: 574





	Underestimated

Eskel’s breath left his lungs in a hard rush as his back collided with stone. He lay dizzied for a moment as Geralt shoved away from him, disengaging from the manoeuvre. The larger Witcher spat, rolled his shoulders to loosen them.

“That was a fuckin’ sloppy lock, Eskel.” Geralt said.

The scars at his face tingled with the small insult, even though Eskel knew it to be true. Stubbornly, he scratched at them, twisting to his side and finding his feet. Although it was the middle of winter, they’d been bare-knuckle brawling for half-an-hour now, and the sun was high and reflecting off the banks of snow shovelled to the sides of the square. Geralt’s taunt had flushed him warm. He unbuckled his tunic, and hefted it over his torso, his disciplined abdomen rippling as he did so. The garment was cast aside.

A small noise from the steps caught his attention; Jaskier was sat, bundled in furs and cupping a steaming mug of cider, watching the two brawny brutes fight. His legs were slightly spread, allowing Eskel to see exactly how interested the bard was in their activity.

Not that he needed to see the outline of Jaskier’s erection, pretty as it was. He could smell the bard’s arousal from where he was; low and steady, the brush of something almost floral and heady. Eskel canted his head at Geralt.

“Again.” He said. Geralt smirked cockily.

“I think you enjoy losing to me,” The white Witcher goaded, “Why else would you keep at this?”

Eskel grinned, slowly. “Because you always make a mistake, Geralt. Your confidence makes you weak.”

Geralt’s upper lip curled, and he narrowed his eyes. In the afternoon sun, his pupils were like a knife-edge, vertical and tight. The gild of his irises glittered. Roughly, he yanked his undershirt out from where it was tucked into his breeches, and unlaced his jerkin. Both items joined Eskel’s on the ground.

“Show me weak, Eskel.” Geralt raised his chin.

They circled one another like the wolves they were, hands in a guard position, careful with the placement of their feet. Waiting for the slightest change, the briefest window of opportunity. Tension snaked together with the scent of sweat and lust. Geralt struck first.

It was a one-two punch that Eskel was familiar with; he also knew it was a feint designed to throw him off-balance. Neither blow would land, and Geralt would try to go low, knock into the muscle of his thigh. Control the hips, control the fight. Eskel bowed back from the swinging fists, and neatly rolled to the side as Geralt’s foot aimed at his leg. Now that the other Witcher’s balance was primarily on his left side, Eskel jabbed an elbow out from his crouched position, aiming for Geralt’s ribs. He heard the other man’s grunt, felt him flinch instinctively, and missed his opportunity to overbalance him by a hair. Geralt pressed down low onto his stomach and then used his arms to propel himself back onto his feet.

Eskel rose, too, and their circling began again. He was pleased to see that Geralt was warier, this time. He waited for Eskel to move. Both of them relied too heavily on feints, and Eskel took a bet; he went in low with a punch with his left hand, making a move as though to strike with his right, his dominant side. Geralt should be focused on that, thinking the left was a ploy. Sure enough, he felt the block on his right, but he followed through with the gut-punch, directly colliding with Geralt’s sternum. The bigger man grunted, and Eskel took the opportunity to withdraw both his hands back into guard. He made no move to pin or choke. It was a simple reminder: _you always underestimate me._

Behind them, Jaskier’s pulse had increased, as well as that lovely scent. He saw Geralt breathe deeply of it, trying to disguise the fact that he was doing so, but Eskel was just as guilty. In his breeches, his cock throbbed. He could smell Geralt’s need, too.

“You look pretty like this,” Eskel whispered, “Sweaty and bruised.”

The compliment was probably more powerful than any punch Eskel could deliver, and Geralt flinched for the briefest of moments. His attack was driven by emotion, and Eskel knew the steps of it: one foot between his legs, the jar of Geralt’s forearm against his side, digging into nerves, and then the off-balance sweep that would follow. So he pivoted away as the other man stepped forward, bringing him to Geralt’s side. It was the worst position for an attacker to be in, and too late did Geralt try to tuck and roll away. As he twisted, Eskel pushed at his shoulders with force, snarling. Geralt fell forward, braced his arms and tried to push up, but Eskel was upon him.

The other man splayed his legs, pinning Geralt’s hips. Then he clawed one hand into the messy bun of Geralt’s hair, jerking his spine into an arch, temporarily affording him access to his lifted forearms. He yanked the right between himself and the small of Geralt’s back, using his weight to keep it trapped as he controlled the left. Beneath him, Geralt thrashed and snapped his teeth, but Eskel answered with a thundering growl, thrusting his hard cock against the meat of his trapped friend’s rear. He pulled tighter, exposing the pale column of Geralt’s throat.

“Yield.” He commanded, all gleaming fang.

“No.” Geralt defied, even as the small of his back arched towards Eskel’s weight.

Mindless in the position of dominance, Eskel rutted forward, his dick pulsing beneath the leather of his breeches. Geralt made a noise halfway between a whine and a groan, and Eskel scented him, intoxicated by the desire that mottled his sweat. He kept up the display, as if Geralt was his to breed.

“Fucking yield, you _bitch_.” He hissed, tugging harder at Geralt’s hair. “Or I’ll fuck the fight out of you.”

Geralt’s answering cry was lustful and extremely degrading as he surrendered, his muscles slackening, the presentation of his arse almost obscene at this point. No longer focused on the fight, fuck-drunk on the scent of his prey beneath him, and of Jaskier’s mounting lust, Eskel purred his delight and wildly thrust his hips forward, huffing out a groan of pleasure. Eskel was absent; he was all animal, all control.

Jaskier made a muffled gasp, and Eskel whipped his head towards the bard immediately – although he did not release Geralt. _Mine_ , his brain screamed. Geralt’s gaze darted to the stairs.

Jaskier was trembling, and for a moment Eskel was thrown into confusion, until he saw between those parted thighs. The bard was flushed a pretty shade of pink, one hand clapped over his mouth to stifle his moaning. Eskel watched, transfixed, as the fabric of his breeches darkened with come, as his clothed cock twitched and spent, his load dripping between the laces. Jaskier’s hips made aborted little thrusts as he keened, trembling with the intensity of an orgasm that was apparently unexpected. Beneath him, Geralt moaned whoreishly, and Eskel drew in the sharp scent of Jaskier’s seed, and the lewd yearning that poured from Geralt’s skin.

“You like that, bird?” He snapped at Jaskier, “You like watching me fuck this little bitch into the ground, where he belongs?”

Both Geralt and Jaskier whimpered. The bard slumped forward slightly, dizzy with the rush of pleasure that had engulfed him without his permission. If he wasn’t a Witcher, he wouldn’t have caught it, but the breeze blew the word over:

“ _Yes._ ”

Eskel make a low chuckle, and rubbed himself forward, slowly, between the cheeks of Geralt’s arse. The other man arched into him all the harder, like he truly was born to be Eskel’s prized fuck-slut. “And what of you, pretty wolf? You want to get fucked here, where anyone could see you being used? Where your defeat and submission could be public domain, hm?”

Geralt shuddered beneath him, his breath ragged. Eskel ran his mouth down the side of the other man’s face, his tongue laving at the rasp of stubble. “ _Hnng_.” Geralt struggled to respond coherently, his eyes rolling back.

“ _Say it_ , and I’ll do it.” Eskel was wild with the thought of it; this was completely unexpected, and not what they’d set out to do. But now he was consumed with the need, the urge to claim. And he wanted Jaskier to watch.

“Please.” Geralt whispered, hissing when his hair was pulled again. “Fuck, please... _fuck me_.”

The permission made the darkness within Eskel’s chest rupture, and it fizzed through his veins, clouding his mind. Gradually, he relaxed his grip on Geralt, although he kept his fingers tangled in the ends of his hair. He liked the feel of it.

“On all fours, little bitch.” He demanded, as his eyes flicked to Jaskier. The bard’s mouth was open, and he was fisting and unfisting the fur cloak, unable to tear his eyes away from the delicious tableaux in front of him. “Oil.” Eskel barked at Jaskier in command, and smirked as the human scrabbled to obey him.

Reaching around the front of Geralt as he got into position, he roughly palmed the other man’s cock on purpose as he unlaced his breeches, earning him a broken moan. Then he tugged the garment down just enough to expose his backside. Jaskier returned quickly, and handed Eskel a vial. He went to go back to the stairs, but Eskel grunted.

“No, bird.” He directed, “You stand and watch me breed this bitch full.”

Jaskier made a noise like he might come in his pants again, but he nodded wordlessly, remaining in place. Eskel purred his delight as he unlaced his own breeches, freeing his cock. It was angrily red and dripping sticky threads of precome. He uncorked the vial and poured some of the oil onto his fingers, before he stroked them between Geralt’s cheeks. When he found the other Witcher’s hole, he teased the ring with stroking circles until Geralt was unconsciously rocking back against his hand, begging.

“Not your first time being a bitch, I see.” Eskel crooned, slowly slipping one finger inside, letting the oil lubricate the way as he watched in lustful fascination. Geralt didn’t resist; he arched his back again and let out a small mewl, forcing Eskel’s finger deeper. “ _Definitely_ not the first.” Smirking, Eskel added a second, and began to stroke and stretch his conquest. Geralt’s eyes were half-lidded, his mouth open as he let Eskel finger-fuck him right there in the sparring square.

Jaskier’s expression was so erotic that Eskel had to supress the urge to moan. “He looks good like this, doesn’t he?” He asked.

“Yes.” Jaskier rasped, “So good.” He was not-so subtly palming his cock – the come from before cool now, possibly uncomfortable. That would never do.

“Undo your breeches, bird.” Eskel said, “See if he wants something to suck on whilst I claim him.” He punctuated his words with a twist of his fingers, brushing Geralt’s prostate. The man moaned, and his cock spurted a dribble of precome onto the ground.

Jaskier nearly fell over his own feet to comply, bright red with blush. Nervously, he tugged the laces open, revealing his come-slick cock, hard again, throbbing with ache. Eskel removed his fingers, and Geralt made a reedy whine. Eskel responded with a low noise, a threat – _shut up._ He slicked a thick coating of oil up his dick.

“Is... is this okay?” Jaskier whispered, kneeling in front of Geralt. But he received no answer. The white wolf simply parted his lips in invitation, a thin line of drool spilling from his tongue. He locked his hazy eyes with Jaskier’s wide, pale blues. The bard had to control himself, squeezing his cock harshly so he wouldn’t lose it and spill all over Geralt’s face right there. Then he took a deep breath, and offered himself.

Geralt didn’t hesitate in swallowing him to the root, Jaskier’s balls slapping against his chin, and the bard bucked forward. “Fuck!” He hissed, as Eskel smugly watched.

“Told you he was a whore of a thing.” Eskel muttered, pressing the head of his cock against Geralt’s arse. He was bigger than two fingers, so he went slowly, but the obscene noises of delight that the man made around Jaskier’s dick told him that he was thoroughly enjoying the burn. “Fuck, so fucking _tight_ ,” Eskel let his head roll back as he clutched Geralt’s hips, sheathing himself completely. For a moment he simply relished the clutch and heat around his cock, breathing deeply.

Then he set the pace.

With fingers tangled in Geralt’s hair, he began to ride him, languid strokes that were powerful where they were not quick. Each time he bottomed out, his sweaty pelvis slapped hard against Geralt’s bare skin, and the symphony of their debauchery quickly became Geralt’s muffled moaning slurps, Eskel’s bestial growling, and Jaskier’s whimpering.

“I—he’s _so—_ I can’t _hold_ —” Jaskier sobbed, trying to keep his hands from Geralt’s face, because Eskel had claimed his head. 

“Don’t blow now, bird.” Eskel gasped, “Like you did on the stairs, _all over_ yourself. Getting off on watching us fight, you—”

“Fuck!” Jaskier squealed; Geralt’s mouth and Eskel’s words were too much. His thighs grew weak and he fell back, spurting thick streaks of come on Geralt’s lips, chin, cheeks. He trembled violently through it, stroking himself until the last of his load dripped on the ground between his knees. “Oh, _oh fuck_.” He whispered.

Eskel laughed darkly. “That was nice to watch.” He observed, picking up the pace slightly now that he didn’t have the barrier of Jaskier’s body. He pounded into Geralt with purpose, pinching his teeth together.

Geralt gasped, mouth sticky with Jaskier’s spend, rocking back time and time again to meet Eskel’s rutting. There was a glistening puddle of precome between his legs, and his dick was twitching wildly. But he would not come – not before Eskel did. He’d be good. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter at his belly, every brush of Eskel’s cockhead deep within him sending a surge of electricity through him that began to build. His eyes squeezed closed as his fingers curled against the stone beneath him.

“Good,” Eskel panted, “You feel so fucking _good_ , little bitch.” His rhythm was suffering, the sight and feel of Geralt beneath him becoming overwhelming, and every time he looked at Jaskier and saw his lovely red cheeks and dilated pupils, he thought he’d lose his mind. “Say you’re my whore.” He demanded, angling his hips just slightly, hitting Geralt deeper.

“M’your... _whore_.” Geralt obeyed, his slurred words broken, and Eskel was undone by them. With a roar, he pulled Geralt as close to him as possible, pushing down hard on his arse as if he truly could be bred. His cock flexed thickly and surged with a rush of come that spilled hot and fast, the force of it pushing through the seal of Eskel’s cock and dribbling from Geralt’s stretched ring.

Flung beyond overstimulated, Geralt let Eskel shove his cheek into the ground. He felt his own come hit him in the chin as he laid stripes of it down, convulsing in the grips of a powerful climax, moaning wordlessly. Both men tensed and panted and jerked together, animalistic, before the pulsing pleasure began to ebb and the foggy moment of primal instinct cleared.

Eskel slowly withdrew, watching his load drip from Geralt with satisfaction, sitting back on his heels. Geralt remained where he was, shivering, until Eskel stroked his backside softly, affectionately. “Did so well.” He praised, “Relax.”

And Geralt did, slumping forward into Jaskier’s awaiting arms. The bard cradled him and stroked his come-slick features and whispered sweet little affections. Eskel didn’t know how to do that. Truly, he wasn’t sure what had possessed him. In the aftermath came the bite of doubt and guilt, and he rose.

“I’ll... go get a bath ready for him.” He offered, not quite looking at Jaskier.

“Eskel,” Jaskier called after him. The Witcher paused. “He liked it. A _lot_. So did I.”

A flush settled across Eskel’s face as he bent to pick up his shirt. He simply nodded, and disappeared back into the keep. Jaskier watched him go, and then glanced down at Geralt, who was almost asleep in his lap.

“You continually surprise me, darling.” The bard whispered, and kissed his temple. Geralt made a weak whimper. “C’mon. Let’s get you all warm and clean, hm?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow @witchernonsense on Tumblr for drabble/general stupidity.


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